


shaky hands

by Hunk_Muffin



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: -jazz hands-, Tags to be edited, Whumptober 2019, and also im tired, and i hate editing, because i started late like a fool, jkdsfhskjdlhfsj, swearing and inaccurate smoking probably, teen stan, unedited because i wrote this in an hour and half-ish, vaguely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 01:09:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20845058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hunk_Muffin/pseuds/Hunk_Muffin
Summary: I'm not sure if i'm gonna do all thirty-one days of whumptober, or if i do write something everyday I might just take prompts from other prompt lists and not only whumptober cus why not!Day 1 - Shaky Hands   ft. Teen Stanley vs the Forces of NatureACTUALLY i lied i didn't do anything besides this one fdsljfs     but    enjoy anyway i guess?





	shaky hands

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't actually going to do anything for October, but then I went why the hell not so have this mostly just rambling thing? 
> 
> Takes place a couple of months after Stanley gets kicked out from his home
> 
> Warning: none?

Stanley had never been so cold before.

If he had been, he sure as hell couldn’t remember it.

All the clothes he owned were on him (which was admittedly not much), alongside a thin blanket he clutched tightly around him. All of it could hardly kept any of his remaining warmth safe.

_“Sh-sh-shit…”_

He muttered, his voice falling short inside the cold car, barely audible over the howling winds outside.

He let out another shaky breath, clear and white in the air, and pulled out a cigarette pack. His hands were shaking badly, numb yet burning in the freezing cold but he managed to get it open, thank god there was one left. Humbling for it he nearly dropped it several times, hissing curses at himself.

_ (Idiot, can't even take out a fucking cigarette like some weak stupid- what he wouldn’t do for at least for a damn pair of gloves, couldn’t Pa of- no. no, don’t think about that. Don’t think. Don’t **think**. ) _

Successfully getting it between fingers he somehow also managed to pull out his last lighter, the small wheel felt like a sharp knife against his ice-cold hands as he prayed to whatever shitty god out there pitied homeless fuckers like him for it to turn on.

Like a small miracle, a small spark of white and yellow lit up.

Except it was quickly dying, he'd only barely managed to light up the end of the cigarette before it died. The dead lighter slipping from his hands onto the floor, stupid thing.

His hands were still freezing, but he kept one out as he took a long drag.

If he was going to die there damn right he was going to at least take one last smoke.

...

He really hadn’t expected to die like this, within his own car becoming some sort of makeshift coffin, in some weird place he had no idea the name of, miles away from home.

Alone.

For some reason, that scared him more than the prospect of death itself.  


...he wondered what Ford was doing, probably had his nose stuck in some nerdy book.

The corners of his mouth quirked up even as he felt bitterness fester.

Stanley never did like the winter. He _ hated _ the cold, while he had nothing against the snow he had always preferred the long summers where the number of clothes he had to wear was minimal, where the sun was always shining brightly and the beach was always bright and inviting. Where they could work together on the Stan o’ War as long as they wanted.

Ford had been the opposite, he loved the winter where he could stay instead with hot chocolate (later coffee) and books, or drag Stanley outside to play in the snow while rambling about snowflakes and how interesting and cool they were, where he could wear his favorite sweaters and jackets with mittens would hide completely his hands.

Stanley hadn't like that either, he hated how much it _relieved_ Ford to hide his hands. It didn’t matter that Ford never brought it up, or attempted to hide that fact from him. He knew, of course he did. He always knew when it came to Ford. 

_ (he also knew when- he just didn’t want to- no, don’t think. Don’t think-) _

He never said anything about it though, because if Ford was happy, he was happy.

And wasn't it so much simpler back then? He’d only need to do something stupid like take a big bite from a fistful of dirty snow with some dumb joke to make Ford snigger and smile. 

God. Had it really only been a year since he did that?

Had it been less? More?

He couldn’t-

He couldn't remember.

The warmth in his chest from the happy memories quickly vanished and the cold that had never quite completely left returned in full force like a hammer taking away his remaining breath.

His eyes stung from the cold, not from anything else, he thought to himself. The freezing tears burning their way down his numb cheeks were also from the cold, he added to the thought. 

He hadn’t even noticed the cigarette slipping from his fingers, falling onto the car floor. He let out a loud curse and tried to pick it back up but it kept slipping and slipping between shaking hands, the only time he managed to pick it up his hands jolted and sent it flying to the other side of the car.

And wasn’t that like some sort of fucked up metaphor of his life? Everything he ever had was constantly just slipping away between his fucking _ stupid _ shaking hands just because he was just _ so _ desperate for something _ so fucking stupid- _

He let out a bitter laugh, his teeth rattling and it _hurt_ and his hands _hurt_ and everything _hurt_ and he just wanted the shaking to stop, he just wanted everything to _stop_-  


He hoped Ford was warm, wherever he was.

He hoped Ford was okay, wherever he was.

And then he told himself he wasn't going to die like this because he was going to live to make it up with Ford. He was going to live and he was going to see Ford warm and okay himself, one day.  


  
He had to.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what this is, but it's something! I'm actually rly tired right now so i'll probably add something here tomorrow tmrw fjdshlkjsdhs my brain was telling me i had to hit 1k but then my other brain also told me bOI you're tired, 750 words isn't anything to scoff at. So unedited, un-added, not the best ending but hey 
> 
> also didn't add but cue this was all just a flashback, and Stanley's just remembering it! And he's actually mostly safe on the Stan O' War or in the Shack with his family


End file.
